Cathedral
by ManuscriptMaiden21
Summary: The story of how Severus Snape's love of Potions began. One-shot.


Just a one-shot to get back into the swing of things. Enjoy.

Note: Some religious themes.

SSSSSSS

It was a cold, windy day. It was that sort of day that made your ears ring, eyes water, and lips crack and bleed as you pushed with all of your might against the might of the gale that sprayed your face with a cruel frost. The streets were empty, save for a few unfortunate souls that huddled around weak embers fueled by damp newspaper and nearly dead cigarette butts, mugs of hot gin in hand, waiting for the factory doors to open to commence their work day. Shivering forms were dusted with blackness from the pollution that had mingled with the onslaught of snow, caking the already filthy buildings with another layer of grime. No one in their right mind would be out of the house today willingly.

All except for one.

A small child, a boy no older than 5, blindly ran through the street, clutching the side of his face, a tattered grey coat flapping about him like great wings to fly him far, far beyond. His legs moved manically, so much so that several fled to clear a path to let him through, lest he smash into something.

He turned a corner in a narrow alleyway, collapsing from exhaustion, panting and watching his breath float away. A thin mask of ice had formed on his cheeks from tears that he desperately attempted to deny the existence of, even when pulling his knees to his chest with a soft whimper. A fist-sized purple and yellow bruise glared up from his thin, pale cheek, still throbbing from a rather painful blow. Wiping his eyes on the inside of his coat collar, he knelt down to examine the damage, observing his reflection in a wide patch of ice. It rested directly below his temple and spread to the very bottom of his cheek, and one would have to be blind to not recognize the clear imprint of knuckles. He pushed himself up, hugging his rag of a coat to his body as he closed his eyes. "Mama is gonna be so mad." A knot of guilt twisted his heart as he thought of his mother, who still lay at home, sick with the flu.

All he had done was try to make her some tea!

He shuddered at the remembrance of whiskey-laden breath and his father's acidic voice as he stomped into the house after a night of gambling. His hands had trembled at the sound, accidentally releasing the tea-cup with a "CRASH" to the floor.

"_You son of a bitch_" was the only warning he received before the blow was dealt, knocking him off the little step-stool that he stood upon to reach the sugar bowl.

The boy opened his eyes, sensing a presence.

There stood a man of the likes of which he had never in his young life beheld before. The man was tall, towering over him, yet possessing a gentleness in his posture that avoided intimidation. In the presence of one that wore such well-worn yet well-cared for black robes and a clean white collar, the boy shuffled his feet uncomfortably, aware of his own shabbiness.

Scrutinizing his facial expression from down a long nose for but a moment, the man at last spoke.

"Son, aren't you cold?"

By now, the boy had lost all sensation to his hands, face, and ears. Indeed, he was cold.

Not that he would admit it to a stranger.

Sensing this, the man removed his own warm cloak, draping it around the boy's shoulders. "Why don't we tend to that bruise of yours? I'm sure that I have something that could take a little bit of the pain away." Feeling embarrassed for the man's sudden kindness and his own lack thereof, the boy drew back, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Mama told me not to follow strangers." The man nodded knowingly, a slightly amused smile tugging at the sides of his mouth. "What a clever boy" he chuckled. "Very well then," he said, extending his hand, "why don't we remedy that? My name is Father Stephen. Pleased to make your acquaintance-?" The boy cautiously shook the priest's hand. "Severus, sir."

Father Stephen tipped the brim of his cap. "Then pleased to meet you, Severus. Now, as I said before, I could treat that bruise for you. My parish is only a few blocks away."

Considering it, with much nagging from his still-throbbing cheek, and sensing a trustworthiness in the now properly introduced priest, he nodded. "Yes, please, sir."

The priest smiled. "Then follow me, son."

The two walked along the now foot-print beaten path, Severus still wrapped up in the priest's cloak. Each time he offered to return it, the man politely refused, saying that he could afford for his old bones to face "a wee bit of nippiness."

SSSSSSS

Severus gazed upwards, mouth partially open in awe as he marveled at the sight before him. A towering cathedral stood vigilant above the town of Cokesworth, steadfast and serene. From the gaping bell-tower to the intricate, yet slightly grimy, stain-glass, it was ethereal compared to the town in its entirety. Pushing open a wide wooden door, Father Stephen ushered him gently inside, shutting it behind them to block out the wind. Here the sickly, comforting scent of incense floated in a thick aura about the two. Severus breathed in quietly, savoring the sweetness compared to the reek of coal dust outside. As the priest led him along a corridor, he watched in wonder as row after row of people whispered inaudibly into clasped palms, bent at the knee before an enormous cross that stood in splendor in the light of the colored glass.

Tearing himself away from the scene, he stood in the presence of a sight that he found to be as, if not more, fascinating.

The wall was lined with shelves, stuffed with thick, leather-bound books, some of which had titles that he could not even begin to decipher the language of. On the opposite side of the room was a counter laden with large cauldrons, some emitting light perfume, others sour concoctions he cared not to know of. Another shelve hung above this, a neat row of jars full of spices and herbs living a happy residence.

After offering Severus a seat and a cup of warm tea, Father Stephen took a stone pestle in hand, quietly grinding strange herbs and spices together, muttering something that sounded oddly melodic. Severus cocked his head to the side, trying to identify the various ingredients, only succeeding in naming cinnamon and clove.

15 minutes later, the priest had succeeded in transforming his strange plethora of herbs into a liquid that was of the coziest shade of light burgundy. Dampening a rag with this, he dabbed it ever-so softly against the small boy's cheek.

Severus's eyes widened. He could feel the pain ebbing away with each touch of the concoction to his skin. How was this possible?

SSSSSSS

"There. Care to take a peek at the damage, my lad?"

The priest handed him a small mirror, which he took eagerly. Severus's eyes grew wider than he ever though possible, tracing his fingers over the bruise.

Well, were the bruise _used_ to be.

Not a scratch or even a welt was left behind, all trace of his father's knuckles gone.

"Amazing, isn't it?" nodded Father Stephen, extending another vial to the boy.

Severus looked up at the vial. "What's this?"

"For your mother" he said simply.

Severus took the vial from the man's fingers and cradled it in his hands as if it were the world's most precious jewel. His eyes watered slightly, hot tears escaping. "But that's not fair!" he cried.

The priest knelt to eye-level, consolation further softening his voice. "What isn't, my lad?"

He sniffled, feeling idiotic for crying, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I don't have any money or nothing!" he choked. "Mama will be mad! She'll think I stole it!"

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to him, the man said softly, "My lad, if your mother is at all upset at you, you can come straight to me, and I will sort it all out for you." With a reassuring smile, he gestured to the vial. "Do you know what this is?" Severus sniffled and shook his head. "Nuh-uh."

"My lad, this is called a Potion. They can do all sorts of fantastic things, like healing the sick and injured. That's part of the reason why we have Potionmakers in this world. They can heal as much as they can hurt. And that man," he pointed to the cross, "smiles every time someone heals another, whether friend or stranger."

The clock chimed upon the wall.

Father Stephen straightened up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Another extraordinary thing in life is how fast time goes by. Would you care to stay for lunch, my lad?"

Severus rose from the chair, eyes a tad glazed. "No thank you, sir. Mama will want this medicine." He began to shrug the long, black cloak off his shoulders, only to be stopped by the priest.

"Take it as a gift, I insist!" He gave him a friendly wink. "Besides, you'll grow into it far better than I could ever. I look like a scarecrow in it!"

For the first time in the entire day, Severus smiled, thanking the priest for what seemed to be a million times before he ran home ecstatically to his mother, Potion in hand.

From that day on, Severus Snape devoted his heart to the cauldron that healed him.


End file.
